


an old man sitting on the throne

by plinys



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6646942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His rival has a son.</p><p>A young boy with wild dark hair around his face and freckles marring his skin. A young boy, who does not run in fright when he sees a vampire standing in the middle of his back yard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an old man sitting on the throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatviciousvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen/gifts).



> So fun fact exchange buddy, I actually have another half written fic for you that is much longer than this (and probably much better tbh, sorry) but I got a bit overly ambitious and the deadline came up sooner than I expected. Which basically means, once the author reveals for this thing happens, go shout at me, because I'll hopefully have that other fic ready to surprise you with. Until then, enjoy this little fic.

1

There was a war. 

Of course, there is always a war.

So many that he can hardly remember, which one was the first and which one was the last. The rush of it - gunshots in the brisk morning air, the cool damp stretch of the trenches, blood spilling across the ground - all blend together in his mind, stretching infinitely. 

It was only the blood that ever stood out in his memory. The way it had not only discolored the ground, but the way it stuck between his fingers, or the way it tasted in the back of his throat.

The first thirst was always the easiest to remember.

The burning, endlessly like fire crawling across his skin, dying and yet refusing to.

He doesn't remember who it was - perhaps a soldier on the other side, a nurse that had smiled with just a bit too many teeth, or his own commanding officer. In the end it hadn't mattered.

He'd survived the first war, and the second, and the third. 

To a certain point of view.

  
  


2

They'll come for him later, offering unity, a place to call his own.

A  _ coven. _

The leader of the coven is a weathered old man, scars marring his aged face. It is the leader that offers him a position, offers him the title that even in his war torn days he had never been able to achieve.

There would be whispers for years to come, hunters who created myths and legends of the monsters they hoped to kill.

They’d tell of him. The one who wielded an army of unbelievable strength.

Disposable fledglings, no proper childe of his. Meant to fight the battles the coven had no interest in taking part in themselves. 

They called him their General.

  
  


3

No one is born to be a vampire, but some people are born to be hunters. 

He is told that it burns in their blood, the need to fight, along with an innate ability to sense when vampires are around.

The first one of these  _ hunters  _ that he meets is a girl. No more than twenty years of age. 

He’ll remember the first time he meets the girl for as long as he exists in this world. 

Standing in the middle of his army, a gun in one hand, a sword the glows a vibrant blue in the other. Her dark hair pulled away from her face in two buns, blood splattered across her cheeks. 

He hadn't killed her that day/. Their eyes had met across the battlefield, rendering him incapable of ending her life as he had so many others before.

He should have.

  
  


4

He renames himself - Brendol Hux VII - another name in his legacy, the sons of the men he had been before. His features remaining the same despite the passage of time. If one were to line a picture of each Brendol that came before, they would see no difference in the features, until they got to the first.

Being born a junior would always be an irremovable stain. 

He wonders what that man would say if he could see his son now, life times in the future, unchanging.

Would he be proud of his legacy? 

  
  


5

He moves to a new city, buys an apartment high enough in the sky that he can see the city sprawling out around him.

He tells himself that he does not choose the city because of  _ her _ . 

It is a lie.

His rival has a son.

A young boy with wild dark hair around his face and freckles marring his skin. A young boy, who does not run in fright when he sees a vampire standing in the middle of his back yard.

“Careful, boy, I could kill you now. It would be all too easy.”

It's these words that get a scowl out of the boy, though not for the reasons he would've expected.

“I have a name.”

“Yes, I imagine you must.”

  
  


6

He watches the boy grown up into a young man, thrust into the fields of war at no more than fifteen. 

The boy wields his sword with an anxious energy, slashing out viciously at those around him. The red glow from it illuminating his features, leaving almost demonic shadows in its place. 

He sends more of his army after the boy, watching from above as he fights his way through the masses easily, as if he was born to kill, born to fight.

There's something in his nature, an innate sense he cannot control, that draws him to the boy night after night. 

It is one of those nights when the boy speaks once more, finding his eyes across the dimly lit alley way they use as their battle grounds. 

“Why don't you fight me yourself, General?”

He wonders briefly at those words how long it has been since he joined the fight. Was it the second war or the third? 

“Don’t tempt me.”

“What if I wanted to  _ tempt  _ you?”

He leaves rather than answering the boy.

  
  


7

There are certain misconceptions people have about vampires. Weaknesses crafted by those foolish enough to hope that their monsters could be killed.

Coffins and garlic, absurd fairy tales.

Wooden stakes, mere myth when bullets will do.

Sunlight -

“How are you doing this?”

“You know better than to ask that.”

The boy’s unarmed, why wouldn't he be? It was just a friendly jaunt down to the news stand in the middle of the day, no need to fear the monsters that come at night.

“You know I can’t kill you right now, they're too many people around. Showing up like this, it’s basically cheating”

That startled a laugh out of him, this notion the boy had, that he might easily fall. Hundreds of years he had been on this earth, and yet fools still had to believe.

“I don't believe you ever had any interest in killing me.”

  
  


8

Kissing the boy - a man now, a  _ hunter  _ \- is a test of self restraint. 

Two creatures who should by every inclination want to tear each other apart, to spill blood between them, to end lives, and yet for some reason resist. 

He presses his lips against the skin of his hunters neck, feeling the pulse just beneath this lips. A pulse that beats solely for his pleasure.

“I'd let you,” his hunter says, voice quivering with something not quite fear.

“I know.”

  
  


9

He cannot remember his own turning, not anymore, but this moment will forever remain seared in his memory.

The taste of a hunter’s blood against his lips. 

The willingness in which he gave himself.

The sense of finality and completion.

  
  


10

“I want a new name,” his childe begs of him, “Name me.”

“Kylo. Kylo Ren.”

  



End file.
